


Mercy

by winglesswarrior



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blue Eyes, M/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:39:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winglesswarrior/pseuds/winglesswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is turned...and something's not what people expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a cool bit of fan art / manip with Stiles bearing the blue werewolf eyes, and this came to mind. It's not really that shippy or such, but it's full of angst. 
> 
> Beta'd by me only, so all mistakes are mine.

Derek was watching an exhausted and healing Stiles sleep, the younger man’s soft breathing puncturing the snores of the others in the room. In one corner there was Isaac, who’d found himself wavering between packs since Derek had returned, despite Derek’s lack of an Alpha status. Near Isaac was Scott, who claimed Stiles as his despite Stiles constantly insisting that as a human he didn’t have an Alpha. Not before at least. Before he hadn’t belonged to anyone unless he decided it. In just a few short days though, Stiles had lost all of that. 

Peter had taken what he’d wanted almost as much as being an Alpha, the vulnerable, little human. For all the man’s attitude towards Stiles, he’d wanted Stiles from the jump. Why else target Lydia when Stiles himself would have been just as good a target to bring down Derek or Scott? No, Peter had wanted the precious human for more than just a means to an end. He’d wanted the person that meant so much to Scott and also Derek and their haphazard pack more than anyone else. He’d wanted the boy as his protege. Just as broken and full of sarcasm as Peter himself. Easily pushed towards evil if Peter could get close enough. 

In a frenzy, Peter had taken Stiles the way he knew best. Derek hadn’t seen the almost ravenous teeth marks that had littered Stiles’ figure when he was found, but the look in Issac’s eyes when he’d relayed the information said enough. Peter had sent back a mauled Stiles on purpose, back to Scott for a reason. Peter could take whatever he wanted from Scott. Including his best friend. 

It was the same message that he’d delivered to Derek a week or so earlier when Derek had found Cora’s body the same way he’d found Laura’s. What belonged to Derek could be taken. Again. Oddly enough, it was Cora’s secret text message conversations with Stiles that had brought Derek back to Beacon Hills. The two had kept in touch, some sort of tentative friendship that usually resulted in snarky, sarcastic, arguments, but Stiles had kept Cora in the loop. He’d told her everything that had happened. 

He asked for her and Derek to come back. 

Cora had told Stiles Derek wasn’t ready. That he’d needed more time to heal. And despite whatever Stiles had needed, whatever he’d wanted their help with, he’d said it was fine. That Derek getting better was more important. 

Derek had found the messages when Stiles texted a now dead Cora, curious why he hadn’t heard from her and Derek had heard the phone go off in her room. He’d stayed up the whole night, reading as many of the messages as her phone would let him load, then reading them all over again. 

At dawn, he’d left for Beacon Hills. 

When he arrived, Stiles had already been turned and taken again. Almost no one had seen their friend, whom had healed over night and Peter had come for earlier than anyone could get to him. Peter had dangled the bait out to his prey, giving them a taste of what he was capable, but taking his toy back in the end. 

While Derek worked with Scott’s pack to find the missing human, no, not human anymore, something had been hunting Peter. Something else wanted him dead, which in Derek’s mind wasn’t exactly shocking. He’d been making waves in Beacon Hills since Derek had left and Beacon Hills had become a hotbed for all things...different. 

Scott wouldn’t have known about any of it if it had been for Lydia though. Despite their interests pulling them further apart, Stiles and Lydia seemed more connected than ever. She blamed Deaton’s ritual, pairing them off as Stiles walked a different plane. Derek thought it might be more than that; that sometimes it didn’t take a ritual bonding, but that bonds were just formed between people that understood one another. Whatever it was, it had drawn her back to Stiles, no matter how lost he’d been. 

Waking from a fugue state, it had been Lydia standing over a battered and beaten for the second time in a week Stiles. Lydia had brought him back, babbling about something trying to kill them and Peter sacrificing Stiles for whatever it was to take. It had left the young woman shaken, more than he’d ever seen her and she’d seen quite a bit over the past couple years. Even now, as Derek looked back at her she was awake, watching Stiles, the same way he was from a distant corner as if taking her eyes off him would make him disappear again. 

Months before, she might have been sitting where Derek sat. Scott was too unfamiliar with the waiting game, hoping for the life to spark back and he kept farther away. As if putting space between himself and whatever it was that wasn’t Stiles on Deaton’s table. No, instead of a shock of red hair, Stiles’ only real companion, Derek was sitting closest. There rest had just given him the space without saying a word. As if they knew something Derek hadn’t figured out on his own yet. 

When Derek caught Lydia’s eye, she looked away, as if ashamed of what she’d been watching. _Because she’s not watching him, she’s watching you watch him._ He’d stop fighting those thoughts. That was part of getting better, being away. Not being afraid of how much the people in the room he’d been in mattered. Not trying to forget. 

Not hating that the silly human, no young wolf, in front of him had gotten under his skin. 

Derek reached out for Stiles, fingers brushing along his hairline, finding a place that wasn’t bruised or scraped. The wolfling shifted his head into the touch in his sleep, murmuring at it. 

“He’s healing well.” 

The druid never slept apparently. Derek turned back to see Deaton, smiling in his own way. It was a look he’d seen the man give Scott before, but not received it himself. 

“But he’s not better yet.” 

“He will be.” Deaton nodded towards Derek’s hand. “That helps.” There was a pause, then that soft smile again. “He kept saying you’d come back. No one believed him, but he insisted.” 

“I was too late.” Derek looked away, focused on Stiles instead. 

“Too late for what? To save him? You were here years too late Derek. Stiles isn’t as innocent as you think. As any of them think. While he bears that darkness around his heart, I’m not sure it’s a much of a change as it is for someone like Scott. I think for Stiles, that darkness was always there.” Deaton explained. Derek heard Lydia move and perk up listening, but he didn’t look back at her. He knew what Deaton was talking about. 

“His eyes.” Derek’s voice was quiet when he said it. 

“What about them? They’re like yours, like Jackson’s were.” Lydia blurted it, but Deaton stayed focused on Derek, and soon they both were looking at him. 

“He killed an innocent.” Derek paused, as if thinking about it. “I’d always wondered.” 

Lydia was shaking her head so hard Derek could hear her jewelry move. “No...Jackson…” Her breath hitched at the memory. They’d all known what Jackson had done even if he hadn’t been able to control it. “Not Stiles.” 

Even Stiles, so much darker, so much more morbid than the rest of them. So offended by people who left, which Derek realized he’d become. He’d abandoned the young man who asked for nothing except not to be left behind. Stiles so willing to just take it all in. So determine to not let others die under his watch even though he lacked the strength to help him. 

“I wonder if she asked for it or if he just did it. Even that young, he could have pulled it off.” The younger boy would have been nothing but awkward limbs and large golden eyes. He was smart as a whip. He would have been able to do whatever was asked of him without leaving enough of a mess behind that someone would care. Stiles made a soft noise in his sleep when Derek carded his fingers through the younger man’s hair as he spoke. 

When Derek looked up finally, Lydia was staring at him. “She…?” 

He was silent and then Lydia understood who he meant. Her mouth went wide, her eyes like saucers. “No...not….no.” 

“He watched it happen,” Derek told her. “My guess is he helped it along. Ended the hurting.” His hand stayed in Stiles’ hair, gently sifting it between his fingers. “I don’t blame him.” Derek had done the same thing after all .

For a moment, Stiles’ sleep was broken, as if he knew they were talking about him. Eyes fluttered open, wolf awake under the surface, healing whatever was left that was human. For an instant they glowed blue, covering up the golden Derek felt himself fall into when he didn’t mean to. Then they were gone, closed again, only a murmur and shift of broken body parts left in the moment’s wake. 

“Don’t blame him at all.”


End file.
